


Quiet

by The_Disaster_Tiefling (Akiko_Natsuko)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Doubt, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guilt, Injury Recovery, Memories, Missions Gone Wrong, Serious Injuries, Spoilers for Episode 55, near misses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-25 20:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/The_Disaster_Tiefling
Summary: It’s quiet in their camp that night.That’s not unusual, not after a fight like that. However, this isn’t the quiet that comes from relief and exhaustion, although both are present as they settle in for the night, trying to pay no mind to their surroundings. Instead, it’s the quiet that follows a sharp intake of breath. Heavy. Waiting. Unspoken words, and invisible cracks spreading between them. It’s the kind of quiet that speaks of a shattering to come, and they all felt it.





	Quiet

It’s quiet in their camp that night.

    That’s not unusual, not after a fight like that. However, this isn’t the quiet that comes from relief and exhaustion, although both are present as they settle in for the night, trying to pay no mind to their surroundings. Instead, it’s the quiet that follows a sharp intake of breath.

 Heavy.

Waiting.

     Unspoken words, and invisible cracks spreading between them. It’s the kind of quiet that speaks of a shattering to come, and they all felt it. It was there in the way that Caleb’s hands shook as he moved through the steps to create his magical hut, fumbling at parts, even though they knew the spell and its components were as firmly ingrained on his mind, as the flames that haunted him. In the end, Beau had said something, not meaning to snap, but sharp from exhaustion and the strain of what had happened, and surprisingly Caleb’s hands had stilled, his back straightening as he finished the spell and the walls of the hut formed around them, trapping them in the quiet.

     It was there in the way that Caduceus, always the first to offer comfort, had been unable to do anything but drop a large hand on Nott’s head as Jester lead him past, setting up his bedroll for him. That touch spoke volumes in the silence that engulfed them, but it paled in comparison to the way his deep voice would usually roll around them after a fight like that, soothing and comforting, buoying their flagging spirits. And it was only as they watched out of the corner of their eyes as he allowed Jester to tuck him in that they realised how much they had come to count on that. And how close they had come to losing him…

_Like Molly…_

     That thought, and the emotion it brought hung in the silence. All of them felt it, even though none of them was brave enough to give voice to it, although Jester seemed to come closest, her hand lingering for a moment over the Firbolg’s chest above the periapt that hadn’t been enough to save either of them. Caduceus sees the gesture, eyes overly bright for a minute before he reaches out and grasps her hand for a second, squeezing lightly, before he pulls it back and snuggles down, his eyes already closing. None of them is surprised when he’s out before Jester has even had a chance to pull her hand back against her chest, let alone move from his side, and there’s an awkward moment where the sleeping Firbolg is the centre of attention. Something easing in the quiet, as they see the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the peaceful expression that has settled over his face once more, even with the lingering evidence of how close it had been.

     Jester was the next to retire, pulling her bedroll up and setting up next to Caduceus, fussing around Nugget who hasn’t stopped quivering and whimpering since he woke, and settling him beside him. They see her reach for her sketchpad as she does most nights, but this time she falters, hands trembling as she lays them on the cover of the book, her shoulders shaking and her expression such a complicated mix of emotions that they wouldn’t know where to start, even if they had the words. Still, it hurts to watch as after several minutes she merely tucks the book away in her bag and curls under the covers, practically wrapping herself around Nugget.

“I am going to sleep,” her voice should be deafening in the silence around them, but instead it’s quiet, and almost lost between one breath and the next. There’s no way to miss the weariness, and the note of not-quite Jester that had entered her voice after her abduction, and it hurts to hear it reappear, and Nott is not the only one to make an aborted movement as though to go to her.

    Her breathing doesn’t even out like Caduceus, although they doubt it will be long after how much magic she had done and how close to the edge she had been, but she’s still and silent, only the faintest tremor showing that she’s still awake. In the end, it’s Fjord, sharing a pained look with Beau and glancing across at Caleb who has retreated to the edge of the bubble, who moves across to set up camp next to her, shushing Nugget with unusual patience as the Blink Dog growls at him. Of all of them, he seems the least rattled, or so it seems until he falters, gaze moving around the camp, lingering on each of them in turn. There’s relief in his gaze, as though he’s counting them and reassuring him that they’re all there, but also a haunted kind of pain in his eyes, and a deep burn of shame. “We need to talk in the morning,” his voice is deliberately quiet, but the words carry clearly with the voice of a leader, and it ruffles the quiet – Yasha and Caleb tensing, and Beau sighing and nodding as she glances towards them.

    Beside him, Jester seems to relax a little, and before he’s finished settling into his own bedroll, missing the rhythm of a ship beneath his feet more than ever after his experiences underground, she’s asleep, face buried against Nugget. Once he’s settled Fjord is quick to join them in sleep, and if one hand lingers on the hilt of his falchion, no one is going to comment, not after today.

     Yasha settles next, although not for sleep. She’s barely said two words since the fight had ended, skirting away from Caleb and Caduceus, and watching Beau from the corner of her eye. Now, she settles cross-legged a short distance from Beau, facing the entrance to the cavern, her sword laid across her lap, still stained with the blood of her friends and enemies. Slowly, highly aware of the eyes on her back she lies one hand on the blade, while the other reaches for her symbol of the Storm Lord, his presence feeling a little too far away underground.

_I’m sorry._

The apologies are bubbling up, but she’s not good at words, and she’s not sure who she is apologising to – her friends, the woman in her memories, or the God who is with her and yet a world away from her. Instead, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, dropping inside herself, trying to reassure herself that there is nothing else there. That she is herself once more. It will be a long night, as there is a new shadow on her soul, blood on her hands.

_I’m sorry…._

     Nott had tried to go to Jester but had found herself unable to move, locked in place, one hand having risen to touch her head where Caduceus had patted her in passing. She’s torn, not a new experience since their group had started to shift, to grow closer, to become more like the family she’d had once upon a time. Out of the corner of her eyes she can see Caleb, his shoulders hunched, tremors wracking him as he scratches absently at the arms around himself. _Her boy_. What happened today was the worst possible thing for him, and she’s not sure whether it’s past flames or the ones he had flung at them today that hold his thoughts now. It doesn’t really matter she supposes, and she knows that Caleb won’t differentiate between them, that all he will see is that he had tried to kill his family with flames again. She itches to go to him, to cradle his face, and bring him back to the present but she can’t bring herself to move, because today he wasn’t the only one to use flames against their family, and her shot had been more deadly.

      Claws bite into her head, and it takes her a panicked second to realise that her grip had tightened as her eyes had moved back to Caduceus. She feels sick again, remembering how her triumph had melted away to horror in a split second, knowing that if Jester hadn’t been prepared, then they would have lost him. They would have lost someone else. It’s like that cursed road again, but worse, because then she hadn’t been able to stop it…this time she had done it. She can’t go to Caleb like this. Not when she can’t convince herself that they can come back from this, and she allows herself a pleading glance at Beau, knowing that the monk catches it as she nods, even though she seems wholly focused on the gloves she’s wearing. It’s enough, and with a last glance at her boy, she scuttles across to claim a spot between him and the rest of the group, protecting him in her own little way, as she curls as small as she can in her bedroll.

    Beau had been quiet since snapping at Caleb, but she had been watching and listening in her own way, even as she pretended to be wholly focused on the gloves. She was excited for their potential, although that was tempered by the fact that they had been used to hurt her friends… she didn’t dare use ‘family’ not with Dairon’s warnings still ringing in her head. Although bizarrely after today, she couldn’t help but think that was what they were – because the betrayal’s, the near misses… the loss, they all cut far deeper than she cared to admit. As did the quiet that followed, the hurt that couldn’t be put into words yet.

     She wasn’t good with words, although she had been getting better, and as she took the chance to glance around the quiet camp, she thought about what she would say to each of them – reassurances, encouragements and the apologies for not being strong enough to protect them. If she had been faster if she had landed an extra blow… if she had brought Yasha back to herself sooner if she had acted against Caleb rather than trying to talk him down… the what-ifs are too many to count, and normally she can ignore them, but they’re blossoming in the quiet of the camp, rising to a roar in the back of her mind.

“Beauregard…” The whisper is so soft that even in the quiet she thinks that she must’ve imagined it, even as the roaring in her head comes to an abrupt halt, as her eyes seek out the source. Caleb isn’t looking at her, still holding himself separate from the rest of them, bowed beneath the weight of what had happened, and the memories that she knows will be closer than ever. However, his hand is out – not like earlier, but lying outstretched behind him in invitation. It reminds her of how he reached for her when he was looking through Frumpkin, or that awful day when he had reluctantly told the group about his past, but this is different… it’s different because now she has a reason not to trust him, and he has reason to fear what they might say or do.

It’s a gesture of trust…

     She moves, rising quietly and carefully moving around Nott, knowing that the little goblin must be asleep as she hadn’t stirred at Caleb’s voice although it's hard to tell with how deeply buried, she is in the covers. She removes the gloves as she walks, storing them away safely before dropping down beside him, unsurprised when Caleb flinches slightly, and she doesn’t give him a chance to pull away or change his mind as she reaches out and takes his hand. Firm, but gentle as she grips it, settling into a more comfortable position until their shoulders are brushing. She should be telling him to rest, realising that he’s barely remaining upright, but she can see the tension in his jaw and the faraway look in his eyes and knows that isn’t what he needs right now. Instead, she tightens her grip, touching him without hesitation, reassuring him without words that she’s here, and that he’s forgiven. It doesn’t absolve them of the need to talk about this mess, but it’s something, and while the quiet remains as he leans ever so slightly into her touch.

It feels a little less brittle, a little less ready to shatter like glass.

It feels a little like coming home to family.

 


End file.
